


don't pour water on fire

by confettitty



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Haikyuu Angst Week 2020, Iwaizumi-centric, M/M, Yearning, break ups, day 1: when did it all change?, i know i'm late lol but its whatevs, iwaizumi loves oikawa so so much it hurts, no beta we die like men, tags updated as i go!, there's gonna be a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettitty/pseuds/confettitty
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime learns that he doesn't have to be in love with someone to love them, but the problem is the fact that he both loves and is very in love with Oikawa Tooru.Oikawa, on the other hand, can't return either.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

The last time Iwaizumi doubted something had been in the first semester of his first year, two and a half years ago, backpack slung with weight over his right shoulder as he walked away from his exam that he felt finished a little too quickly. He spent about sixty percent of the time reviewing all his bubble-in answers because there was no _w_ _ay_ the test only took him forty minutes. Iwaizumi had eaten away at all of his nerves because he had thought he was going to get a fat egg on it but was relieved to discover (after two weeks of anxiety-packed fidgeting and nights that kept him up) that he _didn’t_ get a zero. As a matter of fact, it had been an amazing grade. He didn’t hate English, but he knew he wasn’t the best at it, and he desperately needed the credits because he didn’t want to redo another English course.

His feelings of stress had been valid, but Oikawa assured that he would always do well, and Iwaizumi always listened. He never again doubted something so bad he would spend thirty minutes sitting in his bed and staring at a wall. He studied, got a good night’s sleep, had a healthy breakfast, and was prepared when he shoved his arm against the door to the exam hall, but it took Oikawa to remind him.

Now, he needs Oikawa to remind him once more.

It had started off so slow it was barely noticeable. He doesn’t even know when exactly it started; doesn’t know when the signals had begun to drop. Iwaizumi is generally good at picking up on these things, whether it has to do with Oikawa or not, but he had shoved it to the back of his mind thinking it was nothing at that time.

It really _can_ still be nothing, but Iwaizumi is doubtful. He’s been doubting this entire time and refused to acknowledge it until it became increasingly concerning how many messages he’s been sending that are left on read; how many times Oikawa has crawled into bed without giving him his usual, enthusiastic goodnight kiss, coupled with a teasing, “Join me soon, Iwa-chan, or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight!”

Iwaizumi has never once slept on the couch, but yesterday, he did.

For the first time, Iwaizumi is terrified to unlock the door to their shared one-bedroom apartment. He remembers how excited they had both been when they toured it together. The entire building had been brand new, the cost was amazing considering all the utilities and amenities included, and they spent two hours looking at furniture from Ikea and another trying to decide whether they wanted their TV in the living room or their bedroom. They ended up getting two, one for each.

Neither of them is on, and if they are, the volume must have been turned all the way down because the silence in their home is so unbearable it rattles him with its weight. Iwaizumi can hear his own exhale, shaky enough for him to suddenly be conscious of how apprehensive he is as he flicks on the lights to the kitchen. He pauses by the doorway, considers backing out, and curses inwardly because he can _never_ do that to Oikawa; he can _never_ walk away because he’s afraid to face what he knows is coming— _might_ come.

He doesn’t want to know, though, yet still, he goes.

The knock of his knuckles on the bedroom door sounds so loud it shakes even Iwaizumi for a moment, but he grounds himself in the voice that tiredly calls out from behind. He twists it the same way his stomach does itself, steps into the room with such a heavy heart it doesn’t even come close to rivalling some of the weights he lifts at the campus gym, and leaves the door ajar so the sliver of light illuminates the side of Oikawa’s face enough for him to see.

“Oikawa…” he starts, unsure of what to say. It’s not that Iwaizumi hasn’t thought about it—he has actually spent what he believes to be many hours once accumulated altogether thinking about how to approach him for the way he’s been acting lately—but nothing works. None of the scenarios that Iwaizumi has played multiple times in his head, each time with a different factor in hopes that there’s a better way to tackle this, but there isn’t.

The boy in question hums like he’s already half asleep, and it makes it so undeniably hard for Iwaizumi to garner his full attention. Part of him feels like Oikawa is pretending because, at this point, it’s too easy to notice that there has been a shift in their dynamics. Oikawa has made it painfully obvious, unfortunately.

“I sent you a message today.” The bed dips with his weight. He doesn’t want to lay down. If he does, they’ll go to bed not talking and Iwaizumi is going to spend most of his night staring at the ceiling wondering what went wrong in their relationship, and then they’ll be off for their lectures the next day. Oikawa will have work tomorrow, and Iwaizumi is going to be at the gym.

“Oh,” is Oikawa’s response. He absentmindedly reaches for his phone on the nightstand, but Iwaizumi sees it light up, and there are no new notifications. He must have turned on his phone after ignoring his text notification (he knows Oikawa has them on). “I must have missed it, I’m sorry.”

Apologies from Oikawa are usually enough to appease whatever is troubling him, but this time, it doesn’t. It hasn’t in the past few weeks, but Iwaizumi didn’t have the time to think about why he was always still bothered every time those familiar words left Oikawa’s mouth. That, or he just doesn’t _want_ to think about it. They just don’t sound genuine anymore. He doesn’t know if _anything_ Oikawa says is true anymore.

Iwaizumi still tries, “Did you eat yet?”

“Yeah. There’s some food in a tupperware in the fridge. You can reheat it if you’re hungry.”

No, he’s not hungry. Unlike Oikawa, who tends to binge-eat random things when he’s upset, Iwaizumi has always found that he will lose his appetite if something is bothering him, and something has been bothering him for a long time, now. He hasn’t been eating properly, and Oikawa isn’t stupid. He must have noticed but never said anything about it, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know if it’s a good thing because that would have meant he needed to do a full confrontation with his feelings for Oikawa and likewise, or if it’s a bad thing because he’s spent days and nights, twenty-four-seven, wondering if he fucked up somewhere along the line and never knew why or how or when.

“... ’m not,” he mumbles, stripping his shirt from his body. He had already taken a shower at the gym. Oikawa has always been okay with him coming home late and showering. As a matter of fact, he used to beg Iwaizumi to run home because he missed seeing him and having him home, saying that he can just shower here or whatever, but, two weeks ago, he had made a comment on how he would wake Oikawa up by coming home so late and letting the water run. It had only been ten o’clock. They both know Oikawa stays up way past that.

“I’m going to sleep,” Oikawa tells him, then asks that Iwaizumi turn off the lights outside and shut the door.

Iwaizumi doesn’t move. He stands by the foot of their bed and watches the unmoving figure, cocooned in the dark, silky blue of their comforters. Oikawa had picked them out while they scouted the market hall of the Ikea for fabrics. Iwaizumi didn’t care much, so he let Oikawa toss whatever he liked into the cart.

“Did you hear me? I said—”

_“Oikawa.”_

The words stop there. Oikawa doesn’t turn to look at him, and Iwaizumi can see the way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks. He isn’t even going to make an effort.

This is where it starts. The air holds such fragility to it, Iwaizumi doesn’t even know if he wants to breathe. How is it that this has been happening for weeks, and Iwaizumi has only realized it now? The sudden realization that dawns on him is a stinging slap to the face. It’s like someone had closed their hand into a fist over where his heart lays, and he doesn’t see anyone else’s hand being there unless it’s Oikawa’s.

“We need to talk,” he finally says, voice so hushed it’s obvious he’s scared. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to talk and he doesn’t want to confront whatever the fuck has been going on. He wants to crawl into bed and curl his arms over Oikawa like how he used to every night. He wants to sleep a full eight hours, and wake up knowing nothing’s wrong in their world and wondering how the universe has managed to align them together so beautifully and accurately. He could have sworn they were meant to be.

“Oikawa, _please,_ this isn’t fair.”

Nothing’s working anymore. His words are hardly reaching the other. Iwaizumi is about to open his mouth again when Oikawa finally turns to face him. He lifts from the mattress so ethereally Iwaizumi swears he stopped breathing halfway. He wishes the circumstances are different. He wishes this is a view that he can watch every morning and every night knowing they love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem like the case anymore, and Iwaizumi can hear his own heart begin to crack. He takes a tentative seat by Oikawa’s calves. His hands rest in his lap because he doesn’t know where else to put them; doesn’t know where he’s _allowed_ to put them anymore. He doesn’t know if Oikawa even wants his touch anymore.

“Can we talk?” he repeats. He needs verbal confirmation. Oikawa can’t just expect him to guess how he’s feeling. He’s been doing that a lot recently.

“Sure.”

The silence gathers itself slowly, and they let it fester until it becomes almost insufferable. He doesn’t know if Oikawa feels it too, but the tension is so thick he physically feels it settle down on his shoulders like bags of bricks. He doesn’t even know where to begin, and Oikawa is giving him the chance to right now. He needs him to cooperate, though.

“This can’t be a one-sided conversation.”

This can’t be a one-sided relationship, either.

“It isn’t one-sided,” Oikawa objects, voice sounding more tired than he did before, and Iwaizumi hadn’t thought that possible. “You wanted to talk, so I’m waiting.”

This is probably the hardest thing Iwaizumi has ever done. It’s harder than that exam he took that Oikawa eased his nerves through with words of comfort and a soft kiss to his lips. This is harder than the months he spent considering his options after high school. Oikawa had told him to go with what he loves best, even if it’s hard, and it is. Kinesiology is hard, but this has got to be harder. This is definitely the most difficult predicament Iwaizumi has ever had to encounter in his entire life, and Oikawa is not here to help him through it because _he’s the reason for it._

Iwaizumi breathes in sharply and brings his head down to his hands to rub the bridge of his nose. “What changed?”

Oikawa’s response is quick, “What do you mean?”

Iwaizumi looks up, hands frozen and disbelief written all over his face. He scoffs. “Don’t do this with me, Oikawa. You know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t.”

That’s when he snaps. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You’ve been ignoring my messages, cancelling out on all of our plans…. Don’t fuckin’ say that shit to me. You know _exactly_ what I mean and you playing pretend isn’t pretty anymore. You don’t even… you don’t even want me in your bed anymore.”

The last part hurt to say. Iwaizumi is usually better at controlling his anger. He learned as a teenager and even more in the past two years he’s been at university. They don’t usually fight, but when they do it calms over quickly with an apology from both ends because they love each other so much they can’t stand the other being mad at them. Well, _loved,_ because Oikawa doesn’t seem to love him much anymore.

This has to be a facade. This has to be an act. This has to be Oikawa not knowing what to do because Iwaizumi is assuming he no longer loves him and doesn’t know how to confront him about it so he’s turning to what he’s comfortable with most: pretending.

And he’s right. The tension in his shoulders relaxes a little when he sees the mask Oikawa had donned however long ago begin to chip away at its edges. Iwaizumi can read him, and this is how he’s going to get Oikawa to talk because they _have_ to talk.

“I’m sorry," his voice is quiet and it cracks and Oikawa sounds like he’s trying to hold back tears. He brings his hands up to his face, inhales a long one, and sniffles the tears, that have been threatening to fall, away.

Iwaizumi watches him. He appreciates the apology, don’t get him wrong, but it’s not what he wants to hear. “I’m going to ask you again, Oikawa. What changed?”

This bomb drop is something he expected to come, but it doesn’t hurt any less even with mental preparation. Truthfully, Iwaizumi doesn’t think he can ever prepare mentally enough for something like this. He’s getting his heart broken right in front of him and right from the mouth of the man he’s loved for so many years he doesn’t know if he can count it.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Oikawa’s voice is more even than he anticipated. He doesn’t know what he had thought Oikawa would look like when he’s about to break up with someone, but he had thought it’d be more dramatic. He’d have imagined him to be crying, choking over his words. Not _this._ To be fair, Iwaizumi wouldn’t have thought Oikawa would ever break up with him. Things had been so close to perfect.

What _happened?_

“I want to break up.”

Everything freezes then and there, like the room’s temperature has dropped past zero and nobody’s moving because they’re both afraid to damage whatever’s left to hold their rationality together. Iwaizumi’s no longer looking at Oikawa. He watches the curtain tails dance like white wisps from a freshly-burned-out candlewick. He thinks about closing the window in case Oikawa gets chilly throughout the night, but then heat crawls across every inch of Iwaizumi’s skin like it wants to set him off, and even the night breeze from outside doesn’t do anything to wane what’s threatening to spill.

“I don’t understand,” he finally manages. It’s the best he can say because he doesn’t want to break them more; he wants to build them up again. Why can’t Oikawa see that? “I don’t understand what changed. What changed, Oikawa?”

He thinks he might be a masochist. The answer, even without being said, is dangling right in front of his face. He must be a masochist for wanting to hear and confirm it from Oikawa’s own mouth, of his own accord. The curtains stop their dance to listen in on their private little conversation.

“I just… don’t love you anymore.”

Iwaizumi breathes in shakily. “... Since when?”

There really is no better way to put it, Iwaizumi supposes. Oikawa could have hurt him more if he really wanted to, but _god,_ this aching in his chest is a whole new level of pain Iwaizumi could have _never_ imagined. He has spent the past few weeks trying to compartmentalize everything that’s been happening for the sake of this potentially being nothing, but it eventually gets to a point where it becomes so blatantly obvious that there’s something wrong, and Iwaizumi’s intuition is generally excellent. This time is no different.

“Maybe… two months ago.”

Two months ago, they had been fine. At least, to iwaizumi, they _seemed_ fine. He remembers picking Oikawa up after work, slow R&B playing from the speakers he personally installed into his car, and them kissing each other through the rolled-down window. Iwaizumi had asked him about his day, and Oikawa had replied with a yawn and another kiss, talking about how there had been a table of girls who tipped him handsomely that night. He laughed because Oikawa is loved at work, asked if he had eaten yet, and drove them to their favourite late-night burger joint, tiny and hidden away like it’s their secret gem.

Two months ago, Iwaizumi had loved Oikawa into their bed and under their covers, kisses both soft and bruising, just the way the other liked it. Two months ago, he would come home and join Oikawa at his side so they can rewatch the Brooklyn Nine-Nine series because it’s one of Iwaizumi’s favourite shows. Two months ago, Oikawa would passionately tell him about the playwright he’s studying because he’s going to be playing a major part in one of their plays. Two months ago, Oikawa had loved him.

Perhaps he’s lying. Oikawa still loves him, he just doesn’t want to be _with_ him.

Iwaizumi now remembers how Oikawa had hugged him and pressed a kiss to their lips as an apologetic gesture for turning down a date that they’ve planned for nearly two weeks to go to a friend’s party. The occasion? Nothing serious. She was just hosting a party, and Oikawa had wanted to go, so Iwaizumi waited until four in the morning for him to come back.

Two months ago, Oikawa had announced that he would start going to the gym regularly, and he did. He started seeing him less and less every day. He had once come home with a bag of groceries and four bottles of store-bought kombucha juice, and when Iwaizumi asked why, Oikawa told him he 'just felt like it.' Oikawa never cared much about the health benefits of kombucha juice.

One Saturday before Iwaizumi left for work, he had picked up a huge package for Oikawa. He didn’t open it until the other got home, and watched as he pulled pink jars of clay masks out, repositioned his brand-new body scrubs on their shower caddy, and lotioned his entire body with glitters and sparkles. Iwaizumi had offered to help, and Oikawa let him rub it across the expanse of his smooth back. He hadn’t responded when a friend commented on how his hands glistened for the following three days.

Oikawa had been neglecting their relationship for the sake of doing all these random little things. It never bothered Iwaizumi until now, when he's thinking about how odd and out of character Oikawa's behaviour had been. Iwaizumi doesn’t even know how he fits into the equation anymore, especially when Oikawa has fully launched himself into a storm of self-absorption.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love Iwaizumi anymore, right?—so he clings onto that shred of hope like it’s his lifeline, because it is. He _needs_ Oikawa; has always needed him. They spent their entire lives together. How in the world is Iwaizumi going to survive if his boyfriend—his _best friend_ —won’t be there for him anymore?

There isn’t an answer to that, and Iwaizumi feels himself crumble a little more.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi whispers, leaning forward to take Oikawa’s wrists into his hands. He holds them gently, waits for the resistance but it never comes, and looks the other in the eyes. Oikawa adverts his gaze. “Look at me.”

Oikawa doesn’t. His pained expression sends a bullet right through Iwaizumi’s chest.

“Dammit, Oikawa,” he curses, “look me in the fuckin’ eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

The tears fall silently. Iwaizumi watches Oikawa lift his head, bottom lip worried between quivering teeth, and break down. He dips his head and shakes it from side to side, sobbing. Iwaizumi has seen Oikawa cry before, but nothing like this—because this hurt like a _bitch_ _._ This isn’t something Iwaizumi can smack him on the back of his head for and tell him to suck it up just because he lost his Hello Kitty charm that usually hangs on the zipper of his backpack (Iwaizumi bought him a new one). This isn’t something Iwaizumi can go scout a bouquet of flowers for. This isn’t something Iwaizumi can apologize for.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me,” he states firmly. He knows Oikawa can’t do it, and he knows he’s an asshole for wanting to see him cry because he can’t do it so that he can have peace of mind. Yeah, he’s a selfish bastard but Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he’s done for Oikawa to want to lie about not wanting this anymore. It’s not fair and it’s not—

“I don’t love you anymore.”

The dark irises waver under Iwaizumi’s intense stare. The wetness brimming his eyes clump the long, pretty lashes together, and Iwaizumi can see the pain reflected across his face, even with the limited amount of luminance in their bedroom; can feel the tremble in his cold fingers, still wrapped in Iwaizumi’s rough palms. Oikawa had looked him in his eyes and said it, and even though Iwaizumi doesn’t believe him, he releases his hold around Oikawa’s hands, slumps his shoulders forward, and turns his head towards the window.

Oikawa is lying. Why is he lying? Iwaizumi wants to know, but doesn’t want to ask. He recalls the last few weeks with each other as a blur, thoughts no longer processing the way they usually do, and closes his eyes to will the heat behind his eyes to disappear. He is not going to cry here. He isn’t.

_(He does.)_

The sink water runs. Iwaizumi doesn’t look at himself in the mirror when he lets the first tear fall, the second one tumbling immediately. Throat tight and chest blooming with heat, Iwaizumi cries. He cries and thinks about what had gone wrong in their relationship; thinks about everything he’s going to lose and all the memories he’s going to live through daily because Oikawa doesn’t want to be here with him to make new ones anymore. He sinks to the floor and buries his head in his arms and wonders if there’s any way of saving their relationship; runs every possible idea through his mind because he doesn’t want to let this wavering glow of their flame die.

It might have already, but Iwaizumi wants to reignite it—wants so badly for them to just _be okay again._ But he thinks of nothing. His mind is static and his face feels numb. He doesn't want to give up, but he doesn't know how he's going to reach the end of the finish line, either.

As Iwaizumi turns off the water and shuts the door to their shared room behind him so that he can lay on the couch, he wonders what hurts more: the fact that Oikawa told him he doesn’t love him anymore, or that he willingly lied about it.

The truth is, Iwaizumi has always been able to read Oikawa. He has always been the only one who is able to do that. He knows he had been lying, but what is it that he missed? What had he been completely blinded by to not notice _why_ Oikawa wants to end things?

He doesn’t sleep that night, haunted by the replays of what’s going to become their memories come tomorrow morning, and thinks about why he’s afraid to ask for an explanation. He has never needed one from him. They both know Iwaizumi knows Oikawa better than the other knows himself, so the first time he actually _can’t_ understand him, Iwaizumi finds himself mortified.

Iwaizumi wakes up the next morning to find Oikawa is gone, and realizes that this is where it ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back!!! life in the past few months has kinda been a rollercoaster, but haikyuu angst week 2020 is HERE and i knew i had to hop in. anyways, this was meant for day 1 but i procrastinated a little (it's also probably gonna go way past haikyuu angst week 2020), so i'm a little late but that's okay.
> 
> anyways :3c
> 
> next chapter should be ready soon hehe stay excited babes!
> 
> (also yes, there's going to be a lot of nsfw)
> 
> come visit me on twitter! @milkocaine


	2. Chapter 2

If this is what Hell feels like, Iwaizumi thinks he must have died.

For a whole minute, he had panicked over the emptiness lingering in the apartment after jolting awake from a bad dream. The recognition of Oikawa’s phone charger still plugged into the outlet on his side of the bed and his favourite cologne and hair wax still sitting where they’ve always rested helps calm the rapid beating under his ribcage. The force from suddenly waking up and spiralling into a state of anxiety finally comes crashing down on him, the realization of last night’s events expanding its way past his sleepy barrier.

He thinks his nightmare might have been better than his current reality.

Oikawa has a nine a.m., and an hour break after that. He usually comes home during that period, so Iwaizumi sits on the couch and waits. Fuck his morning classes. His grades are important to him but those he can always work for himself. But this—this isn’t something that he can sit down and study for hours knowing it’ll yield good results and good results only.

This is much more than that.

The hand on the clock moves slower when he’s waiting for something. Oikawa’s class has about thirty minutes of it left, and the trek back home from the Arts building takes roughly ten to fifteen minutes. Iwaizumi is going to sit here in the violent silence that threatens him in his own mind with his own depressive thoughts.

Normally, Iwaizumi doesn’t like rain. This is something he and Oikawa have both agreed on: sunshine on a warm day with blue skies is much more appreciated, but right now, nothing is more soothing than the gentle pitter-patter of the wetness caught on the glass of their apartment windows. He watches them slide and kiss each other to become one, and counts the ones that reach the bottom of the windowpane.

He pulls on a jacket and steps outside. He’ll be back before Oikawa’s class ends, so it’s okay. The rain comes down sprinkling and it paints the hood of his grey pullover in dark spots as he walks. Most people tend to dislike the wetness that drips off the muck gathered on roofs and splashes against expensive, white socks when they accidentally splash into a puddle. Iwaizumi doesn’t bother avoiding any of them knowing the boots he bought together with Oikawa will combat that issue. He doesn’t like the rain, but today, he’s finding that he doesn’t mind it.

If he cries right now, nobody will know.

The little bell chimes above his head when he steps inside Evolution Vape, and he makes sure to drag the bottoms of his shoes against the black carpet, cleaner than he had expected. It had come as a shock to both of them when Iwaizumi picked up his first cigarette back in his first year. Unsurprisingly, many people, not just Oikawa, had been pretty against the idea of smoking. Truthfully, it didn’t help much with the stress anyway. Iwaizumi never touched one after Oikawa berated him on a Thursday afternoon. He did, however, pick up vaping for a little bit. Nobody really cared if he vaped—to be honest, a lot of them did. He often let Hanamaki borrow his when he ran out of pods or couldn’t find any more juice, and likewise. When Oikawa walked into his room just in time to see him blow out a large wisp of white, the stench of honeydew melon strong in the air, he slammed the door and refused to talk to him for a week.

(“Iwa-chan! What are you going to do when your lungs stop working mid-squat, huh? You’re just going to die and leave me here all alone?”

“Shut up, Shittykawa. ‘m not gonna die, dumbass.”)

It had taken Oikawa a year and a half to get him to put it down enough to not be blowing through an entire pod every three days. He’ll admit, it was a bad habit to pick up, but first-year had been hard and he was surprised Oikawa, who wants to try everything once, never caved in once. Iwaizumi wouldn’t have liked it if he did, anyway.

But things are harder now than they had been in his first year, and his hands had been itching to do  _ something  _ because watching the clock every ten minutes to find that only three minutes had passed had been getting increasingly difficult for him.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this again, but he doesn’t stop himself from going up to the counter and picking up two Allo bars for twenty bucks. If Oikawa is going to say something about it, Iwaizumi thinks he’d be more relieved if anything. He’d rather Oikawa be mad at him than give him nothing at all.

The first inhale after a long time is, definitely arguably, the worst. He’s lightheaded enough to have to slow down his steps. He coughs into his sleeve, pulls his hood up a little bit higher, and heads back to their home. The rain has begun to come down on him a little harder, now. He wonders how Oikawa is going to get home. He wonders if he even  _ will  _ come home.

Iwaizumi waits after changing out of his clothes, wet and carrying a stench that he can only familiarize with the dark, moist soil he and Oikawa used to stomp in back in elementary schools. They would walk home from school together and Iwaizumi would always stomp in the puddles with unnecessary power, then turn around and gleam at the way Oikawa’s face would twist in disgust. He would always get him to join in. They would always bring mud trails up to Iwaizumi’s front porch and his mom would get mad at the both of them. Oikawa would snicker because Iwaizumi tend to into a lot more trouble for doing the same things Oikawa did.

Iwaizumi has missed three of his lectures and fell asleep through the afternoon. When he wakes up, it’s to a dark, cloudy sky and a numbness massaging into his chest. Oikawa hadn’t come back at all today. He didn’t show up after his nine a.m., and he didn’t send a message telling him he’s going to be late today.

Rationally speaking, Iwaizumi can’t blame him, but he still does. He still blames Oikawa for not wanting to provide an explanation because Iwaizumi is left in the dark with little peace of mind. It’s unfair for Oikawa to want to dip out on him without giving him closure. They’ve been together for nearly three years, now—no, scratch that. They’ve literally been together their entire fucking  _ life. _ The  _ least  _ Iwaizumi deserves is an answer to his incessant desire to know  _ why.  _ But he never asked. He’s a coward, too. But shouldn’t it be basic human decency to give someone that closure?

His hands close into fists just as the door pops open. Oikawa comes home with a bottle of coconut water in his hand and the strap of his backpack in the other. Iwaizumi stands up but doesn’t say a word. He’s waiting, so Oikawa can.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Well, that certainly isn’t what Iwaizumi had expected.

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi presses and steps in a little closer.

Oikawa looks up, frozen in his spot. “We talked yesterday…. Don’t you remember?”

Iwaizumi’s jaw drops.  _ “No _ —I mean, yeah, fuck, I do. But… that’s it?” He can’t do it. He isn’t thinking—he  _ can’t  _ think. He feels like he’s running on borrowed time because Oikawa just told him he’s  _ leaving,  _ and Iwaizumi can’t focus on anything else except for the fact that he doesn’t have enough time to tell him  _ no, please don’t go, I love you, I’ll miss you, I need you here. _

“That’s it. I’ve already found a place, Iwaizumi,” Oikawa tells him with a sigh as he sets his coconut water down on the kitchen island, then proceeds to take a seat so he can pull out a small tupperware of something green.

Iwaizumi stares at it. “What’s that?”

Oikawa glances up. “Huh? Oh, this? That’s my dinner.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t stop the heat from spreading to the ends of his fingertips. “That’s dinner? Where’s your protein?”

“I went vegan.”

_ “Vegan?” _

“And what’s wrong with that?” Oikawa snaps suddenly, like something Iwaizumi said had set him off. Perhaps it did, because Iwaizumi has to press a knuckle into the crease between his eyebrows to tell himself to  _ relax,  _ because there’s no point in getting fervid over something trivial. He should be focusing on something else, but—when the hell did Oikawa decide to go  _ vegan? _

“Plus,” Oikawa adds, directing their attention back to his food, “there are nuts in here. Protein.”

Well, that’s hardly enough.

“Iwaizumi.”

He looks up to meet Oikawa’s eyes, and he fears for his fucking life because he doesn’t know where he’s seen that look before, and that’s possibly because he’s  _ never  _ seen it in his life—at least, not towards him. His eyes are dark and a frown mars his face so deeply Iwaizumi wants to rub at its corners until they relax into something he can recognize, like his stupid, megawatt smile he generally greets Iwaizumi first thing home.

Iwaizumi knows he must have fucked up somewhere.

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa apologizes, fork digging to the bottom of the container. “I just think… I need some ‘me’ time, you know?”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“You won’t understand even if I tell you.”

Iwaizumi digs tiny little moon-shaped crescents into the palms of his hands. “Try.”

“... I can’t—”

“And why the hell  _ not?” _

Oikawa takes so long to respond, Iwaizumi almost gives up. He sighs right as Oikawa swallows his bite.

“I know you won’t understand. Iwa-chan, I know you better than anyone.”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “Don’t call me that.”

Lips pursed as if realizing his mistake, the other responds with a quiet voice cracking just slightly, “I’m sorry.”

The world really is a terrible place, Iwaizumi thinks. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, he wants to grab Oikawa by the front of his shirt so he can kiss him, and then he wants to punch him right where it fucking hurts the most. “My  _ god,  _ Oikawa, can you stop fuckin’ apologizing and just tell me what the hell is going  _ on?” _

Sometimes Oikawa does this thing around other people. He’ll pause, take a deep inhale through his nose, and then close his eyes. Iwaizumi recognizes it too well—he’s preparing to play once the ruby curtains pull up.

And there it is: the flutter of his eyes wide open, dark, unwavering irises boring into him, and a toothy smile stretched across his face. Iwaizumi briefly wonders if it hurts to smile so fucking big when he doesn’t even want to.

“You know what? You’re right,” Oikawa tells him with energy Iwaizumi knows he can’t have just  _ pulled out of his ass, _ “I’m sorry for beating around the bush, so I’ll only say this once: I am breaking up with you right now because I don’t think we’re ready for a relationship—”

“What the  _ hell,  _ Oikawa?” Iwaizumi explodes. “ _ Two years,  _ we’ve been dating, and  _ now  _ you don’t think you’re ready?”

Oikawa’s lips are pursed. “Please let me finish. How old are we, Iwa-chan?”

“Twenty-one.” His response is immediate. Oikawa needs to get to the fucking point because Iwaizumi doesn’t know how long he can stand around waiting for Oikawa to stop beating around the bush.

The brunette exclaims. “Exactly! We’re  _ twenty-one.  _ That’s such a young age. Haven’t you heard that the twenties is supposed to be where all your youthful years lay?” There’s a pause, and then he sighs. “I just think we should… have some time to ourselves, you know? There’s so much ‘ _ we’  _ in this relationship there’s not enough time for ‘ _ me’,  _ and that goes for you, too.”

Iwaizumi understands but he doesn’t understand. It’s like he gets what Oikawa is saying but at the same time doesn’t fully register the words. It’s a common trope amongst young couples, he supposes.

_ I’m not ready for a relationship. _

_ I want to experience something new. _

_ I can’t do that when I put almost all of our time into our relationship. _

The silence drags on for minutes. There are things Iwaizumi wants to ask but doesn’t know how to approach them; doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear the answers. He doesn’t know if he can keep the flame alight anymore, so he stares at the patterned marbling of the countertop and watches the marred reflection of Oikawa poking at his food in it.

He opens his mouth and doesn’t care that the first few words come out like a broken whisper. “Do you feel like I tie you down?”

“Yeah.”

The flame burns out, but Iwaizumi sits at the top of it by himself in hopes that a spark can lighten it up again. He probably should have expected it. He probably knew it, somewhere deep inside and at the back of his head, the moment his mouth opened and the words came out.

“Okay.” It’s a defeated one. Iwaizumi resigns.

Oikawa must have spent the entire Saturday packing while Iwaizumi had been nose deep in his textbooks at the campus library for his upcoming midterm. He comes home and is greeted by emptiness. Oikawa left most of the things that hold sentiment, like his favourite lap blanket they had picked up on one of their first Ikea dates or the My Neighbour Totoro decor light that Oikawa had begged Iwaizumi to get him for his birthday earlier that year.

He picks it up, turns it on to find that the lights inside have dimmed to such a low glow it’s almost unnoticeable, and sets it back down. Their closet space is mostly empty. Iwaizumi never bought much. The bottle of Oikawa’s champagne, half-empty, still sits in their fridge. He glances down at the framed picture sitting on the bedside table and closes a hand over it, edges digging into the flesh of his fingers from how hard he’s clutching it, then lets it go.

His finger hovers over the call button. Oikawa’s picture saved as his contact photo stares back at him. It’s them in Disneyland. Iwaizumi remembers when a Mickey Mouse headband was forced into the mess of his hair after all the rides Oikawa wanted to go on, and he remembers how wide of a smile the other had on his face when he took a step back to giggle at the grouchiness evident on Iwaizumi’s face. He remembers breaking into a grin when Oikawa turned around to fidget with something and spun back with a big, red sparkly bow, adorned with glistening sequins, on his head. They took the photos then and there at the store.

Digging through his closet to find them is a lot easier with the sudden increase of space. He pulls them out and falls back onto his butt, leans his back into the wall, and stares at them.

When Iwaizumi goes to sleep that night, he stares at the My Neighbour Totoro light from across the room. The battery has completely died.

Sunday morning comes and Iwaizumi, for the first time in a long time, considers sleeping in. He didn’t fall asleep until very late into the night, too caught up with not knowing what to feel and feeling too much all at the same time. He and Oikawa are no longer together. Even repeating the words in his head doesn’t sound right; he doesn’t know how they’ll taste on his tongue.

Hand outstretched to hit snooze on his phone, he’s forced awake when his ringtone sounds. It’s got to be Oikawa, right? Maybe he left something behind. He’ll come back to get it. Iwaizumi doesn’t have absolutely zero of a chance in convincing Oikawa to  _ stay, please stay  _ because he loves him and doesn’t know how life is supposed to go without him in his life.

To his surprise and dismay, it isn’t Oikawa. The adrenaline drops like a fat rock, and Iwaizumi collapses back into his pillow as he slides his thumb towards the green.

“Hey,” he speaks groggily.

It’s Hanamaki. “Hey, no time to talk, let’s grab lunch.” The beep signals the end of the call and Iwaizumi tears the phone away from his cheek to glare at the blackness of his phone. He tosses it to the side, rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes, and sighs out deeply.

He has a feeling Hanamaki knows, and if Hanamaki knows then Matsukawa definitely knows, too. His arms fall flat on the mattress as he blinks away the black spots behind his eyelids. His eyes are swollen and his cheeks feel dry from the tear stains from the night before. He might as well get up and clean up; might as well go “grab lunch” and see what kind of bullshit the pair has to say to him.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves them like his brothers. They’ve always been there for him (even though it’s usually Iwaizumi who helps Hanamaki through his late-night vomiting parties in the washroom and Iwaizumi who helps Matsukawa with his computer science coding shit), but they always know a little too much and Iwaizumi doesn’t know if he has the emotional capacity to handle much more after a break-up so painful it felt like Oikawa reached inside him to yank his heart out of its home.

He sees Hanamaki and Matsukawa pull up just as he gets there. He shoves his hands into his pockets, but they both notice it.

“When’d you pick up vaping again?” Hanamaki asks, pulling his own stick out from his coat pocket. It’s pink and probably some fruity flavour.

Iwaizumi mumbles to his shoes, “Recently.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa share a quick look but Iwaizumi pretends not to notice. He’s thankful that they say nothing more as they head inside the restaurant. Iwaizumi orders his Shanghai fried noodles and watches Hanamaki and Matsukawa bicker over what to get. Iwaizumi has always liked to stay within his comfort zone, whereas the others liked to try new and different things. He glances down at his hands, the nail of his thumb gliding under his index’s. Perhaps this is what Oikawa had meant, just on a grander scale.

The two return noisily, chairs scraping against the floor, and plop into their seats.

“So,” Hanamaki starts, and Iwaizumi laughs dryly at how easily he cuts to the chase, “you and Oikawa broke up.”

Iwaizumi glances up but refuses to meet Hanamaki in the eyes.

“Are you guys talking at all?”

Matsukawa butts in, “It’s been two days.”

“One, actually,” Iwaizumi corrects. He doesn’t want to count that one night, but, realistically speaking, their relationship might have grown one-sided way longer than two days ago. He gives in with a sigh and leans his back to rest against the wood of the chair. “No. We aren’t talking.”

Even Iwaizumi himself can hear the fatigue in his voice. He’s  _ tired.  _ He feels like he’s losing his touch with everything around him. Showering this morning felt like a chore. He didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Didn’t have the motivation to find something to wear so he came out in the pair of sweatpants he wore last night. Doesn’t feel hungry.

It’s when their food comes out does he finally feel his stomach stir. He hasn’t had food since before the many hours he spent at the library. His Shanghai noodles look  _ good. _

The tears come halfway through. He had tried to will them away when his nose started to sting and his eyes began to water. He had clenched his hand over his disposable, wooden chopsticks so hard they splintered, but the first tear fell, and then the second. Iwaizumi keeps his head down and hears Hanamaki and Matsukawa set their chopsticks down to rush to his side.

“Hey, let’s talk. Do you want to talk?” Hanamaki’s voice rings in his ears.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even know what he wants to talk about. His mind feels cluttered and blank at the same time, and he isn’t sure if he can even form a coherent sentence right now. Thank god the place is nearly empty and the servers don’t look like they want to come bother them.

His cheeks are red from rubbing at them so much; the skin there is now tender to the touch. The burning sensation of his moisturizer on his cheek from this morning comes back to him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes to the wilting edge of the table. “I’m okay.”

He isn’t, and he’s sure they realize that, but they sit back into their seats. Silence falls upon them and neither of them moves.

“It came outta nowhere.” Iwaizumi’s voice breaks as he speaks. He shakes his head and presses his palms to his face. “Ugh, fuck, no, that’s a lie. I should’ve noticed it sooner. I don’t know what happened.” He lifts his face, then drops it back down when he feels the familiar burning in his nostrils again. “I just… wish I knew how to fix this.”

Matsukawa is the first one to say something, but he doesn’t until he lets Iwaizumi gain some semblance of control over his composure. “Some things can’t be fixed. I don’t think anything broke here.”

Iwaizumi shoots him a glare. “Yeah, maybe if you disregard my two-year-long relationship with my childhood best friend and my mental breakdown.”

“Way to go,” Hanamaki grumbles to Matsukawa.

The taller male sighs and leans forward. “I mean, you lost your relationship, but Oikawa is still here. You didn’t lose  _ him,  _ did you?”

Did he?

After lunch, Iwaizumi spends the rest of his Sunday afternoon in bed. He couldn’t finish his noodles so he had packed it up to go and it sits in his fridge until late in the evening. He picks at the small pieces of scallions left at the bottom of the takeout box as he exits out of YouTube. He falls asleep quickly because he hadn’t slept well or enough the night prior (and some nights before that).

Right before he fully falls unconscious, however, his phone lights up with an Instagram notification of Oikawa uploading a new post to his feed, and Iwaizumi’s thumbs fly so fast across the screen he nearly loses his handle on the device.

It’s a picture of him smiling. He’s got a boba drink in one hand and a peace sign up, a very signature look for the boy. He doesn’t know who took the picture, but a tap on the photo later, the tagged username pops up, and Iwaizumi recognizes it as one of Oikawa’s closest friends. He looks well.

He looks happy.

It’s the sudden heat that spreads through Iwaizumi’s chest like a lightning-struck wildfire that forces him to shut his phone off and slide it far away from him on the bedside table. It knocks into their framed picture and it collapses on top of his phone, but Iwaizumi is turned away and doesn’t want to acknowledge the sound of it cracking against the surface. His hands and feet are sweaty and he tosses and turns, restless with the way his thoughts eat at his mind.

Iwaizumi wakes up in the morning, slides the fallen frame off his phone, and leaves for his morning lecture. He doesn’t pick it back up.

If Oikawa can get along just fine after they break up, then Iwaizumi is going to prove to both him and himself that he can, too.

He knows he fails when he comes home that evening with a brand new picture frame, fit to the size of the photo of him and Oikawa, still sitting face down on the bedside table. He knows he fails when he runs a thumb over Oikawa’s smiling face, eyes trained on the outline of his jaw, the curve of his nose, and the reflective light in his eyes. He knows he fails when he cries for the third night in a row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG  
> i had it partway finished but then writer's block gmfu BUT TODAY I GOT OVER IT BC OF AN INSPO TWEET THAT I WROTE A FIC TO which you can find here!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770275
> 
> anyways, thank you for stopping by and i hope you enjoy !!


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